


Michael's First Day

by Jakeelope, Runebug



Series: Constellations [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety, COMPLICATED AU, Fear, Intrusive Thoughts, Martin isn't here for a reason, Michael is younger than in canon, This is going to end in a very large polycule, because they all deserve to be happy, but no distortion, homophobia (in the past), spiral themed anxiety, there's still spooky stuff, things are less scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:22:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jakeelope/pseuds/Jakeelope, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runebug/pseuds/Runebug
Summary: Michael Shelly has worked under Gertrude Robinson for years. When she goes missing, her department is dissolved, and Michael is moved to another department to work under Jonathan Sims. Trouble is, he's got very bad anxiety.Literally just chronicles Michael walking his things to the other office. There's lots of intrusive thoughts and memories bubbling up because he deals poorly with change.
Series: Constellations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922428
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	Michael's First Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really odd AU. End game is a ridiculous polycule where everyone is happy. This is not supposed to be anything but self-indulgent fun that my partner and I are writing. Gerry is alive, for anyone curious. Unsure if this'll get any attention but lemme know if you wanna see more. This is kind of a stand alone in the AU, but who knows! Maybe inspiration will strike me.

Michael wanders his small office space. He's never really thought about what he'd do on this day. He's always sort of known it would come, eventually. He didn't expect to be Gertrude's assistant forever, and the woman was old; he knew one day she would retire or die, and then he would have to move on, assuming he didn't get fired first. He was good at his job, and he admired Gertrude (maybe more than she deserved) but he could always tell she found him... _unpleasant_ in some way.  
  
Perhaps it is the anxiety. Michael has had anxiety his whole life, about loads of things, but especially important things. It infected most thoughts about jobs and friends, and made both of those things difficult to navigate without help. His older brother, Christopher, had suggested he seek out therapy years ago. Michael had listened, _really_ he had, but every time he sought it out, something got in the way, and more than once it was the anxiety itself that got in his way.

This wasn't what he wanted, but the archiving job he'd taken on in recent years had helped even out the instability he felt in years past. The work was consistent, and he interacted with others enough to remind him of what having friends could be like, even if he would never really call them his friends. Michael hadn't had many friends in his life. He might consider his brother one, sparingly as they spoke. He'd had a few as a child, until they realized how odd he was for other boys his age. He supposed he'd always been a bit off.

His parents hadn't noticed at first, or they were kind about it. Part way through the 80s, though, when Michael was still in his single digits, he remembered them getting very upset with him a few times. Sometimes, it was taking his older sister's dolls, because those "aren't for boys." The sweaters he fancied weren't, either, and especially not growing his hair out long, no matter if famous people did it or not.

But now, Michael is an adult. He's been on his own for nearly two decades, and he's fine, really. He works with nice people, and the break room is usually quiet. He liked Gertrude's company a lot, and found it deeply worrying when he realized he wasn't the only one whose texts she hadn't responded to. He ended up being the one to fill out the missing persons report. He misses her already, and wonders if she has thought of him, if she’s still alive. As much as Michael knew she didn't feel the same, he often found Gertrude reminding him of his mother. He was sure Gertrude liked him more than his mother did, though, and that endeared him to her. His mother had always been particularly surly about his femininity. He couldn't ever find it in him to believe Gertrude cared about that at all.

Michael keeps his hair long now because he can. It's thick and curly and very soft, and it takes far too much time to do, but he likes the routine of it. He likes the compliments strangers give him when he's walking, though it's few and far between when you're as tall as Michael. Most comments are about his height, if there are comments at all. He lives in a city, though, and there are more stares than anyone trying to start conversation. Being 6'4" was difficult when all you wanted to do was disappear into a crowd. Work had always made him feel like he could disappear, though. The archival work here, especially. He could slip into the library and not be noticed for hours. He'd be productive and learn loads of things, but he would only rarely be interrupted by Emma or Fiona.

It was nice. He could dress how he pleased within reason; sweaters, colorful or not, were perfectly allowed within Gertrude's dress code. He rarely wore colorful ones, but the option being there was nice. Sometimes, he'd indulge himself and wear a large tie-dye sweatshirt he'd made ages ago in uni. He only wore it on bad days, but it always felt like a hug. It reminded him of friends from then, many of whom had died already, or were off doing far more important things, like raising families or teaching. They didn't need him, but that was alright, because Michael had the memories, and his hoodie. Michael packs the sweatshirt into his work bag, and tries tidying up the last of his things. He had been told that Gertrude's assistants, in her absence, would be assigned to new departments. Apparently, the Institute didn't have the funds to be hiring a new Archivist in his department. He did wonder how much money they could possibly be making off of their team. Gertrude never seemed to publish papers, and she traveled… a lot.

To be honest, he isn't sure where the others are ending up. What he does know was that Elias Bouchard had asked for him to be moved into his department, and that this terrified him. Elias seems so intimidating. He was _off_ somehow, Michael had decided, though he wasn't sure how, and he surely didn't want to judge the man for whatever it may be, but it was eerie. It felt different from how Michael was _off_.

He takes a deep breath, and nods to himself. He can carry the first box on his own with his work bag. He's not worried about time, really; he knew he wasn't going to be terribly productive while packing, moving, and unpacking, and he'd been reassured that it was fine by Elias. Michael is still nervous.

One final look into Gertrude's file stacked office, and he's out for now. He opens the door to the long hallway, and sees Timothy Stoker walking his way. His nerves spike, and he regrets leaving the office. Tim gives him a wide grin as Michael shrinks in his space, as though he was trying to become unseen.

"Hey, new co-worker." Tim smiles as he approaches, but doesn't get too close. "Thought I'd see if you needed any help."

It is a kind offer, Michael knows, and logically, he should accept the help. It's never so easy, though. "N-No, thank you." Michael sounds frailer than he is in his response.

"You sure? I don't mind." Tim says, cocking his head and still smiling. His hands move up as though gesturing to hold something, but Michael holds his box closer.

"I- I... I think I've got it." He tells him. It's not a lie, really, but he's not telling Tim about the other box in his office space, either. "R-really, though, th-thanks." His stutter was always particularly bad when he was nervous, and speaking to someone as confident as Tim was sure to make him more nervous.

"Well, holler if you need me! I'm just running to the break room." Tim explains, and then he leaves. He heads for the break room, like he said he would, and there's no reason to believe he's lying. Michael is anxious anyway, and if he could fiddle with the hem of his cardigan he would. The walk to his new space was quick. It didn't take long at all, and he knew logically that it shouldn't, but he always seemed to wish the hallways were longer. Maybe he could just walk forever, and never reach the destination that his anxiety assured him would be terrible. That would be nice.

That doesn't happen, though, and he needs to keep on. He walks to the cleared desk, but looks around for a moment. He sees Sasha, who is typing away at her computer. Michael should say something, but what?

"Um-"

"Hey, Michael." She says, just as he's given in. "That's your space, you're fine." She looks up at him from her seat, and Michael could swear she sees right through him.

"R-Right." He nods quickly, and sets the box down before sitting. _Why are you sitting? You have a whole other box to grab. You should get it in case Tim sees it. He might take it. He's only trying to be nice, but what if he sees something-_

Michael is taken out of his thoughts by a door opening across the space. Jon steps out, and clears his throat. Michael hopes Jon doesn't see him, but how could he not?

"Michael."

And then Jon is gone, off down the hallway like this was all as it should be.

Perhaps this would be fine. Jon hardly acknowledged him, and regardless of whether or not this was because he could tell Michael was nervous, or because he was curt, Michael does not particularly care.

He decides to start unpacking a little while he's here, and does so slowly, his mind spiraling with anxiety as he does. Once he sees Tim return with no box in tow ( _of course, with no box, what was he thinking?_ ) he excuses himself quietly to retrieve the rest of his things.

He finds himself toying with his curls on the way back to his old office. Michael wants to say goodbye to this space, but it feels silly. Childish, somehow. It's not like he was leaving the job, or the building. He'd still walk by every day.

A second passes him by while he stands at his desk, and in a moment of surprising clarity, he realizes it's not the office he wants to wish well to. It's not the desk or his old chair or the filing cabinet that he's trying to say goodbye to. He looks to the space Gertrude used to occupy, nearly a month ago, and he purses his lips a bit, deciding it best to hold the emotion in. He should be professional. She was just his boss, nothing more, and he was never like a son to her. Right.

_Right._


End file.
